


Making My Head Spin

by selenehekate



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut, post-Blackout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5874292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenehekate/pseuds/selenehekate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A powerful snowstorm hits, and Charlie can't help but worry about Bass. Separated from the rest of the group, can they find some way to stay warm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making My Head Spin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostinmysticfalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinmysticfalls/gifts).



> And with 2 hours until the extended deadline, hurray for turning things in at the last possible moment!
> 
> You know, this was supposed to be a quick, 1k story. Then my muse had to go off and decide that, hell, let's make it 5k and more than 1 chapter. Good.
> 
> So this is for the Good Ship Charloe's "A Very Charloe Christmas" exchange for lostinmysticfalls. I hope you enjoy! There will be at least 1 more (smut-filled) chapter, hopefully posted next week. Happy holidays, sweetie!!!
> 
> Drop me a line and let me know what you think!

It was the day before Christmas Eve, but god only knows how anyone could tell in the post-Blackout hellhole Charlie Matheson had found herself in. She’d been young when the lights had first gone off, but she vaguely remembered that Christmas used to be a grand ol’ affair. She recalled twinkling lights and festive music, a giant, ornate tree with gaudy decorations, and enough holiday movies to make any child braindead from the endless entertainment. These were all aspects of Christmas that Charlie deemed necessary, that she thought the holiday _needed_ in order to survive.

Watching the world try to perpetuate this once joyous celebration in a post-Blackout world was enough to bring out the Grinch in Charlie Matheson. She wished the small Texan town a mile up the road from their quaint forrest hide-out would calm down and stop caroling. She needed the Texas Rangers to stop wishing everyone a “happy holiday season” as they patrolled though the streets. Most importantly, though, Charlie needed her family to shut the fuck up and stop obsessing over stupid things like playing Secret Santa.

Didn’t they know there was a war going on? What, did Miles and her mom think the Patriots would just fold their hands into their laps and wait patiently for the holidays to be over before they attacked? Charlie and her family had much more important things to worry about instead of making Christmas cards for the Texas Rangers’ generals, but god help her, when Rachel Matheson got an idea stuck in her head, she wouldn’t rest until she had seen it through. Who knows? Maybe making Christmas cards with Aaron and Gene was her way of keeping sane.

Charlie sure wasn’t going to have any part in it. She already regretted letting herself be roped into a game of Secret Santa. It pissed her off that she had to trade away some of the rabbit she’d caught in order to get Aaron—her pick—a new scarf. Did he even want a scarf? She wasn’t sure he’d like it, but she didn’t know what else to get the poor bastard.

Charlie wasn’t even secretly excited to find out which of her family members had drawn her name out of the pot. She knew full and well who was responsible for ensuring her holiday cheer: none other than freaking Sebastian Monroe.

Oh, it hadn’t been too hard to figure out. They’d all gathered around a ragged old baseball cap Rachel had found in the upstairs bedroom and drawn names. Rachel had smiled with joy and immediately glanced to Miles, so it was pretty obvious who she’d gotten. Miles played it a little closer to the vest, but Charlie had overheard him asking Aaron what he thought Gene liked, so that was clear too. Gene had sighed the weariest fucking sigh imaginable—he’d clearly drawn Monroe’s name—and Aaron had cheerfully informed the whole family that he had some great holiday ideas. Since the only person really going full-force on the whole “holiday” thing was Rachel, Aaron’s pick was a pretty safe bet. That left Bass as the one to draw Charlie’s name.

Of course, his less than secretive actions on the day they’d drawn names sort of gave the ruse away. While everyone else—even Charlie—had made some effort to conceal whom they’d picked, Bass had slammed the card down face-up on the kitchen counter. Charlie’s name had been in full view. “Okay,” he’d said with a roll of his eyes. “Now what?”

“Stop it!” Rachel had protested, her eyes growing wide. She’d jumped over towards Bass and wrapped her hand around his card, shielding it from view. Her lips had been turned up in a snarl when she’d said, “It’s like you’ve never done this before.”

“Oh, well, clearly I’ve been missing out,” he’d drawled.

At the time, Charlie hadn’t been able to help the smirk from slipping onto her features. It appeared—in a weird turn of events—that the only person more annoyed by the holiday season than herself was Sebastian Monroe. Honestly, watching his straight-up apathy at the whole affair was a nice change from dodging family members wishing her a “holly-jolly Christmas.” True, having Monroe as her gift-giver pretty much guaranteed that she’d end up fucked over in the gift department with a half-drunken bottle of whiskey or something, but at least he wouldn’t expect her to feign cheerfulness.

Which would be pretty hard to do, given the blizzard that was clearly coming their way. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and the snow had been falling for the last three hours. The sky was dark, the road into town was icy, and the wind was starting to pick up. While Aaron and her mom had spent most of the day decorating, Charlie had spent the day gathering firewood and hunting game.

Their little farmhouse was truly the perfect hiding spot as Miles and his team waited out the winter months. It was nestled nicely into the middle of the woods and had four bedrooms. The kitchen even had a wood-burning stove, so they could cook their meat indoors. 

Even better, the property had a small, slightly run-down cabin out back—Miles had said that back in the day, these things were called guest-houses—that consisted of a single room with a warm fireplace. The roof was slanted and solid, though the windows were frosted over and absolutely filthy; it was almost impossible to see inside. The hinges on the door were rusty and required a lot of force in order to get the door open, but it was a quaint little space, just perfect for storing salted meats and extra firewood.

Bass had taken to sleeping in the small cabin; no one in the main house seemed to care about this, but Charlie thought he felt out of place with their group. Miles always deferred to Rachel over Bass, and god knows he hated the bitch. Besides, Aaron and Bass had a rocky relationship that was best maintained by distance.

Somehow, Charlie had found herself being the go-between. She would meet with Miles and the others, then relay the messages back to Bass. She found herself volunteering to stand guard with him or to hunt with him—not because she particularly wanted to, but because no one else would. Maybe it was because in her heart, Charlie knew that their little ragtag band of fighters needed him in order to win. Maybe she just felt bad that he was always alone. But somehow, someway, Charlie Matheson had become Bass’s best friend.

It had started out slow at first, back before they’d even stumbled upon the little farmhouse. Charlie had taken it upon herself to bring Bass his share of whatever they’d caught that day (since apparently no one else was eager to do it), and she’d tossed the rolled up cut of meat at his feet. “Here,” she’d said with a raised brow. She’d turned around to walk away, but his voice had stopped her.

“Oh, whatever did I do to have such a delicious meal delivered by such a divine creature,” he’d said in a low, sarcastic drawl. “Why, Charlotte, you’re simply stunning.”

She’d known he was baiting her, but she couldn’t resist turning around and saying, “You think flattery will get you anywhere?”

“It might get me some silverware,” he’d said with a cheeky grin. Abruptly, the grin had dropped from his face and a knowing look had taken its place. “Or is the cutlery only for the civilized people? Not the dumb dog you drag along?”

She’d been startled by the self-deprecating words. Never before had she considered that Monroe knew what the others thought of him; never before had she thought that he might care. But oh, care he did. Her lips had been pressed into a thin line when she said, “Fine.” Then she’d stomped back off to camp, snatched a fork from her mother’s empty plate (“Charlie!” Rachel had called out in annoyance, but Charlie had ignored her), and maneuvered back over to Bass. “Is there anything else, your highness?” Charlie had spat as she’d held the fork out to Bass.

To her surprise, his lips had quirked as he took the fork. Their fingers had brushed and she had to ignore whatever jolt she’d felt. “I prefer you call me ‘My Liege,’” he’d replied with a bright grin.

She’d scoffed. “Not until you go to hell.”

“Well I guess I’ll have to take you with me.”

She’d stalked away soon after, partially annoyed with his suave speech, the dick. But soon enough, Charlie found herself finding more and more excuses to talk to him. Every day, they’d banter, make snarky comments about each other, and then one of them would decidedly tell the other to fuck off.

Until one day, Charlie realized they’d stopped bantering. In fact, if she really thought about it, they were flirting. How the hell had that even happened? He was Sebastian fucking Monroe, for god’s sake. He was a murder, a dictator, and an all-around jackass…

…Who had been through enough shit in his lifetime to make anyone deranged. Maybe it was around the time that Charlie could admit Monroe’s brand of crazy was a product of his circumstance that she’d started to think of him as a friend. Maybe it was around the time that he’d started opening up to her about his life that she’d started to think of him as more.

It had been a few days after they’d moved into the little farmhouse in the middle of the woods when Monroe started opening up to her. On that day, Miles and her mom had been indisposed, while Aaron and Gene had ridden into town. Charlie knew that Bass got anxious sitting around with nothing to do (and honestly, she was the same way), so she’d dragged him out hunting.

From start to finish, the air had crackled with electricity between the two of them. For almost two hours of stalking through the woods and looking for prey, they hadn’t said a word; they hadn’t needed to. Just by looking at him, Charlie knew what he was thinking. She’d always been able to tell, to find the unsaid meaning and emotion behind his gaze. And as they’d circled a fox and slit its throat, Charlie had met Monroe's gaze, panting, as heat had filled her body. He’d stared back, his eyes hooded and dark, and when he’d licked is lips, Charlie had to repress the urge to mew, and _holy shit, I need to get laid,_ she’d thought as she shook her head and backed up. Nope. Not happening. No reason to think of Monroe like that, right?

She’d awkwardly cleared her throat and stepped back. “Come on,” she’d muttered, gesturing towards the fox.

Without taking his eyes off of hers, Monroe had reached down and wrapped his hands around the fox’s ankles… only to jerk his hand back with a sharp yelp. “Son of a bitch,” he’d muttered as he stared down at his hands. There, sticking out of his left palm, had been a giant black thorn. He’d moaned, his voice going low. “Fucking perfect,” he’d snapped, before he yanked the thing out of his palm.

Instantly, Charlie had dropped her knife and grabbed his hand. “What are you doing, dipshit?” she’d asked as she pulled out the handkerchief she normally used to clean her blade. It wasn’t exactly sanitary, but it would do in a pinch. “Hold still!”

He’d done as she asked, allowing her to tie the wound up with light, gentle movements. And when she’d pulled away, she realized that he’d been holding his breath too, looking up at her face from under surprisingly delicate eyelashes. She’d swallowed, dropped his hand, and stepped away. “There.”

“Not bad, Charlotte,” he’d said, his voice soft. “Course, the doc is your gramps. Guess caretaking is in your blood.”

“Hardly,” she’d countered, though her voice was softer than she’d intended and she wasn’t sure why. “You’ll be lucky not to get infected.”

“Nah,” he’d said with a slow shake of his head. But all the while, his eyes had stayed trained on hers. “You did fine. Just like my sister.”

Charlie had known about his family—the way they’d all died, the way Bass had nearly killed himself out of grief—but Monroe very rarely spoke about his family at all. This sort of tidbit of information was rare. “Which one?”

He’d hesitated, and for the first time in almost two hours, his eyes dropped to the ground. “Angela. She wanted to be a nurse. Used to practice on me, and everything.”

It was hard to picture rough-and-tumble Bass Monroe playing nurse with his sister, but Charlie hadn’t been able to help the small smile that crossed onto her face. “Cute.”

His eyes had jumped to hers, and they only softened when he’d realized there was no malice meant. “Yeah, well… She was smart. Way smarter than me. Would’ve changed the world…” He’d snorted and shook his head. “ _She_ could have run the republic.”

Charlie had been able to see the way his heart was breaking, and it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him. He was Sebastian Monroe. Yeah, he was her friend, but that didn’t mean she could touch him. At the time, she knew she had to lighten the mood. “But could Angela have killed a fox?”

With a wry smile, Bass had said, “Oh, definitely not. She was always a little princess, afraid to get her hands dirty. Not like you.” He’d stepped past her, heading for the fox, but his shoulder had brushed lightly against her own, and her breath caught in her throat, and just like that, Charlie Matheson had known she was a goner. “Come on. We should get back.”

So in the space of a few short months, Charlie had become Bass’s confidant, his best friend, and then the woman who secretly loved him. Not exactly ideal, of course. And she certainly wouldn’t ever tell him or act on her feelings; her family would skewer them both alive if anything were to come of it all. 

Still, that didn’t change the reality that Charlie did, in fact, having feelings for the goddamn psychopath. Even worse, she hated herself for it, but she didn’t have it in her to let their friendship die. It was more likely than not that Charlie would go on loving Monroe until either she got shot through the head or Monroe turned on her mom. And even then, Charlie wasn’t sure that would change the way she felt; her mom could be really obnoxious sometimes.

Which is how, the day before Christmas Eve, Charlie found herself preparing for the upcoming blizzard by stocking the small guest-house that Monroe slept in by himself. She told herself it was because that’s what the extra space was for, but who was she kidding? She knew Monroe was too stubborn to come into the main house for the next couple of days, and she wanted to make sure he had enough firewood, food, and blankets in case the storm proved to be too much.

Bass didn’t say anything when she dropped off the supplies. Instead, he focused his time and energy on plastering up a small hole near the window. She bit her lip, but kept quiet. She would feel better if he were inside the house, but she was way too fucking stubborn to ask.

She left him in peace, returned to the main house, and more or less glued her mouth shut to stop herself from “bah humbugging” all over her mother’s Christmas cheer. As the sky outside darkened, the storm grew more and more ferocious, until the wind rattled the windows and almost a foot of snow was piled up outside. The longer the storm went on, the more anxious she became, until Charlie could barely stop herself from jiggling her foot up and down with nervous misgivings. She felt the falling ice outside start to chip away at her patience, until finally she couldn’t take it anymore. Without a word to anyone, Charlie grabbed her winter coat and shrugged it on.

It was Miles who noticed her actions first. He set down the paper crown Rachel had made for him and frowned. “Charlie? Where are you going?”

She worked hard to keep her tone neutral as she answered. “To kick Monroe’s ass.”

There was silence as she buttoned her coat. Then, Miles spoke. “Any particular reason, or—“

“He’s being an idiot. It’s not safe out there. I’m going to get him.”

“Charlie,” Rachel cooed. “Don’t worry about Monroe. Let him be. He’ll—“

“I’m also going to grab some more meat,” she said through clenched teeth. She’d known her family would protest her trying to help Monroe; it was pathetic that she knew she’d need an alternative story. “If we get snowed in, we’re going to want it. Better grab it now.” She didn’t wait for anyone to reply and simply walked out the door. Of course, since no one followed her, she assumed they wouldn’t protest her leaving for more supplies. Apparently, helping Bass was out of the question, but helping themselves was totally fine. Idiots.

The minute she stepped out the front door, icy daggers slammed into her face. Every new snowflake the wind whipped against her skin felt like another small knife burrowing into her cheeks, and Charlie genuinely froze for a moment, stunned by the sudden cold. It wasn’t until the door closed with a loud _bang_ behind her that she started moving, trudging towards the small cabin that was slightly obscured in the distance.

Her feet kicked up snow as she walked, and she had to wave her arms out in front of her like a putz to keep from falling, but she made slow and steady progress towards the cabin, towards Monroe. The entire way, Charlie began a mental diatribe, silently cursing the idiotic man. _So fucking typical,_ she thought as her fingers began to grow numb. _That fuck-knuckle doesn’t care about anyone but himself. What, does he think we won’t worry? Idiot. And another thing—_ she paused in her mental evisceration as her eyes caught sight of the smoke tendrils that curled from the chimney of the cabin. _Did he get into the supplies_ already _? I swear, if he runs through the food and wood I left for him and ends up freezing to death before the storm ends, I’ll kill him myself._

At long last, Charlie reached the door to the cabin. The wind continued to howl and pulse behind her, and her eyebrows knit together as she struggled to pull open the door. But a foot of snow covered the bottom of the outward-swinging door, and she couldn’t get it to budge. With a slight growl, Charlie began kicking the slow out of the way. A chill ran down her back, and she started working more fervently, craving the warmth of indoors. “You. Are. Going. To. Fucking. Open,” she seethed as she cleared the snow away. Satisfied, she started pulling on the door again, using all of her strength to wedge it wide enough for her to slip through. “Goddamn it,” she muttered, before she finally wrenched it open. Triumphant, she stepped inside.

Two things happened then, things that determined _exactly_ what her life would be like for the duration of the storm. First, Bass Monroe looked up at her with a quirked brow—stupid, self-satisfied ponce—and a slightly bemused “Charlie?”

Second, the wind wrenched the door from Charlie’s hand, slamming it shut behind her with enough force that the entire cabin trembled. The windows rattled, the floors creaked, and the roof—the slanted wooden roof holding a few feet of fresh snow—heaved a giant sigh before it dropped all of the ice and snow right in front of the door, effectively sealing them inside.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was mostly set-up, but the next one is the fun, flirty stuff. Stay tuned!


End file.
